


Dean - 16

by phantisma



Series: Ages [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - When Dean is 16, Pastor Jim comes to tell him his father needs him, and Dean has to make a choice between everything he's got and the life he knew before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean - 16

He was sixteen when he started to feel normal…or what he assumed normal was supposed to feel like. It had been six months since his last nightmare or vision. Six months with no headache, no bloody noses. Sam still walked on eggshells around him, checked on him through the night, checked his pills to make sure he was taking them.

It was driving Dean crazy, and that’s how he figured he must be normal. He’d say normal _again_ , but he wasn’t sure anymore he had the right. He’d find Sam watching him while he was doing his homework or watching TV, and when he’d ask what he wanted, Sam would just smile and go back to whatever it was he’d been doing when his eyes had caught sight of Dean.

Running had become his salvation, a time apart from everyone, time to get his head on straight. It had helped him put Cassie’s death behind him and move on. He was coming back from a run when he spotted the strange truck in front of the house.

The truck seemed familiar, and completely out of place. It was dusty and beat up, faded blue on nearly bald tires. He slowed further on his cool down and approached the house like it was on fire. He opened the door and stopped, staring. Janet was the first to stand, obviously nervous and her eyes led his to the man seated on the other end of the couch.

He set his tea cup down on the coffee table and stood slowly, his eyes traveling up Dean’s lean frame to his eyes. “Dean.”

Dean swallowed and looked at him, confused at the sight. He was older, leaner, his face more lined. “Pastor Jim?”

Janet was clearly relieved that Dean did know the man. Jim nodded. “You’ve grown since I saw you last.”

Dean flicked his gaze over him one more time and pulled his walkman from his pocket. “Why are you here?” Dean walked away, toward the hall table where he deposited his keys and walkman.

“It’s your father.”

Dean stopped and closed his eyes. He really didn’t need this now. More of his father’s stupid games, cloak and dagger bullshit—“He’s hurt, Dean. It’s bad.”

Dean sagged a little against the wall, his back still to both Jim and Janet. “Where?”

“Philadelphia.”

Dean thought about his father in a hospital, serious enough that they called Jim. Serious enough that Jim came to find him. “What am I supposed to do?” Dean asked finally, turning around.

“I thought…you’d want to know.” Jim said. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Dean shook his head. “No, it isn’t that.”

Janet crossed to his side, touched his hand. “Don’t take it out on him, Dean. It isn’t his fault.”

“I know.”

“I’ll let you two talk. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well, Mrs. Caplin. I’m very happy John’s boys have you.”

Dean waited until she was gone, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I’m sorry,” he said, exhaling slowly. “I’m not…I don’t even know what to say here.”

Jim nodded. “He doesn’t know I’m here, Son.” He put his hands in his pockets. “He’s actually forbidden me from coming here, so when he finds out…but damn it Dean, he needs you.”

Dean nodded, his arms crossed in front of him, his eyes on his feet. “I needed him once too. Sam needed him.”

“Dean, you know he loves—“

“Maybe that isn’t good enough!” Dean snapped, his head darting up, his eyes piercing. “Maybe that was never good enough. For fuck’s sake, I was twelve. Twelve.” He took a few steps toward Jim who blanched white, but held his ground. “And you knew. You knew he left us there in those hotels while he went off hunting his demons and whatever…and you did nothing.”

Dean was raging, the anger he’d spent the year identifying spilling into his veins and flushing his face. “I had no business being responsible for Sam. I needed—we needed a father.” But that isn’t the extent of it, and he knows it. He’s angry too because his father had left them, despite the fact that he was angry that their father wasn’t a good father.

“I was hoping you would come back with me to see him.” Jim said in the silence that followed. “Maybe you being there will help.”

“How?” Dean asked quietly, his eyes meeting Jim’s. “How can I help?”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know Dean. I’ve tried everything else. He’s banged up plenty, but the real hurt is inside him. He hasn’t spoken or eaten since he was found. He doesn’t sleep unless they drug him.”

That cut a little too deep. Dean had spent his own weeks of private hell in a similar state after Cassie, and then George had died. In the end it had been Sam who got through to him, Sam who was everything…and the threat that Sam would be alone.

“How long?”

“A couple of days. I came when he was stable.”

Dean crossed his arms and folded his head, making himself smaller, closing himself off so that he could think. “I’m not the same person I was, I’m not the son he remembers.”

Jim’s touch startled him. His hand rested on Dean’s arm. “But you are still his son.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Am I?” He took a deep breath and lifted his head. “Okay. Okay. Philly’s a good 8 hours from here. Even the way you drive.” He didn’t look at Jim. “I’ll need a few hours to get ready.”

“What about Sam?”

“What about him?” Dean’s face flooded with anger again, his eyes flashing. “I’m not dragging him into this.”

Jim nodded, apparently seeing that Dean wouldn’t be backed down. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just go get some provisions for the road, and come back for you. Say two?”

Dean nodded tightly. He didn’t walk Jim to the door, just watched him go, then moved to the kitchen where he knew Janet was waiting. “You okay?”

He inhaled and held the breath for a long moment before exhaling slowly and nodding. She looked so small and frail standing there in that kitchen. She’d lost a lot of weight since George had died, since George’s body had followed his mind. They had never figured out what had caused it…though Dean had had his theories…theories he didn’t think about anymore.

“You heard?”

She smiled. “I heard that you were angry.”

“It’s my father. He’s…in a hospital in Philadelphia.” He pursed his lips and fought down another wave of anger. “I told him I’d go with him to see him.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Her eyes were on the table, not him, but he still felt like she was looking in to him.

“No. But he’s my father.”

He came a few steps closer. He was off balance, and that made him uncomfortable. “I—I need to do this.”

She nodded, moving to touch his hand and look up into his face. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be here alone.”

Dean smiled fleetingly for her as she leaned against him, her head against his chest. It had been hard the first few months. George had died three weeks after Cassie, and Dean had been convinced it was his fault somehow. Janet worked hard to make sure he didn’t try to fill George’s shoes, fathering Jenny as well as Sam, but she did rely on him a lot. They both knew it and neither of them acknowledged it.

His hands came up around her in a protective, comforting gesture. “You’ll be fine. It will only be a few days.”

“I won’t lie to you, Dean, I’m afraid…every time you see him, I’m afraid.”

“That I won’t come back?”

She nodded against his chest. “That…and that he’ll hurt you. Are you really ready for him?”

Dean brought a hand to her chin and tilted her face up so he could see her eyes. “I promise you, Janet. I’ll be back in a few days, I’ll be fine. I’ll take my meds, and mind my temper and I’ll come back.”

He was taken by surprise when she kissed him, her lips parting to suck his lower lip into her mouth. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, but she’d sworn it wouldn’t happen again…He pulled back and she followed, standing on tip toes and dragging his head toward hers.

His body stirred as her tongue delved into his mouth and he breathed into her. The kiss deepened when he didn’t resist or step back. Her free hand dragged down his sweaty t-shirt. “Dean,” she moaned and he rocked back away from her to catch his breath.

“Janet?”

“Just…I…I need this.” Both hands slid down his chest, pulling his t-shirt up, her nails scraping over his toned chest. “Please…don’t go without…” Her words were lost as she pressed her lips to his right nipple and he shivered as her tongue flicked over it.

It had been months since the last time she’d fallen apart like this. Dean had managed to stop it from going too far by the smallest margins. His body responded to her touch like any 16 year old would, his head reeling as he tried to move his hands to her shoulders to push her away, while his cock got hard and her hand found its way into his sweats. “Janet. We can’t.”

She stopped his words by putting her tongue back in his mouth. “I need you Dean.”

She pulled away from him just enough to peel off her own shirt, then pressed her bare breasts against him, chest to chest. “You want to, I can feel it.” Her hand went back into his pants.

Dean licked his lips as she stroked him, and shook his head as if he could deny his arousal. “I do…I really do…but it’s wrong. Janet…I—“

Before he could say anything else, he felt her free his hard cock, felt her lips close over it and words left him completely. Her tongue moved over him and his eyes rolled back in his head. He’d never felt anything like that. “Janet, please…I—God. Fuck.”

His hands found their way to her head on their own, encouraging her to keep the rhythm. “I’m…gonna…oh god, Janet!” And with that he came, pulling back from her and staggering as his cock spurted. It sprayed forever, on her breasts, on the floor. Dean was breathless, landing in a chair and looking down at her.

She seemed to suddenly realize what she’d done and shook herself before climbing to her feet and reaching for her shirt. “Dean…Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

Dean shook his head. “No, Janet. It’s okay. It’s okay.” It was fucked up and not right, but it was okay. He could make it okay. “I’m going to shower, pack a few things.”

She nodded, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What will you tell Sam?”

For a split second Dean thought she meant about what had just happened, then reality set in and he realized she meant about his father. “Nothing. I’m taking a road trip with a buddy.”

 

“Why can’t I come Dean?” Sam asked for the third time as Dean threw some clothes into a duffle bag.

“Because, squirt. This is just for the big boys.”

“I’m almost as tall as you now.” Sam countered and Dean glared at him.

“You know what I mean.”

Sam’s face got serious though and his tone followed suit. “But I take care of you. Whose going to take care of you?”

Dean stopped what he was doing and turned to look at his brother. He was twelve. Dean had been twelve when they had gone to that hospital. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Sam seemed so much younger than Dean had been at the same age. Dean tried to smile and almost pulled it off. “I’m going to take care of myself for just a few days, Sam. Is that okay?”

Sam didn’t answer right away and Dean could see the worry in his face, the fear in his eyes. He went to kneel in front of his brother, taking his hands in his own. “Hey, Sammy, listen. I’m going to do your job for a few days, and you’re going to do mine. Okay?”

Sam looked at him like he wasn’t sure what Dean was getting at. “I’ll look after myself. You look after yourself, and Jenny and Janet. Can we do that?”

Sam’s face was still pouty, but Dean could see him considering it. “Will you take your pills?”

Dean made his face as serious as he could. “Every day.”

“And eat your vegetables?”

Dean nodded.

“And sleep. Real sleep, not sleeping in the passenger seat of some car doing 80 down the freeway?”

Dean leaned in and kissed Sam’s forehead. “I promise, Sam.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“It’s only a few days, Sammy. You’ve been alone longer.”

“Not by choice.”

Dean got back up and smiled. Those first few weeks after Cassie’s death had been difficult on Sammy, and he, in turn, had made it difficult for anyone and everyone who tried to keep him from Dean’s side. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

 

Dean was waiting on the front step when Pastor Jim pulled up and he was down the walk and opening the door before the older man could even put it in park. “Let’s get this over with.” Dean said, sliding in and pulling the door closed.

The first hour was spent in silence, which was fine as far as Dean was concerned. He’d said most of what he’d had to say…at least until he saw his father.

“So, Dean. How have you been? It’s been a long time since I saw you last.”

“Four years or more.” Dean remembered the last trip to see Pastor Jim. It had been nearly three months before Sammy had gotten sick. He chuckled at the thought of him and Sam playing hunters through the sanctuary of the church. “It’s been hard.”

Jim looked at him and Dean thought he saw something there, something in his eyes. “Hard?”

Dean nodded, and looked out the window. “This last year especially.” Dean caught himself picking at his fingers. It was a nervous habit he’d developed since Cassie. He closed them into fists and put them on his lap.

“Want to talk about it?”

Dean glanced at him, as if remembering for the first time that he actually was a real minister. “Thanks, but no. That’s what my therapist is for.”

“Therapist?” The strange look was back.

“Yeah. Normal people…lots of normal people, have therapists.” Dean chuckled at Jim’s expression, something between concern and horror.

“Normal people.”

“Did you always repeat other people this much?” Dean asked, irritated.

“No…I’m…feeling like I hardly know you…and I’m trying to get a handle on it.”

“I told you, I’m not the Dean Winchester you knew.”

“That would be a shame. I really liked that Dean Winchester.”

“Whatever, dude. I’m gonna crash. Wake me if you want me to drive.”

“You have your license?”

Dean smirked. “Oh yeah. First try, the day I turned 16.”

 

They pulled into Philadelphia near 10 pm and Jim stopped at a motel. “I’ll get us a room.”

Dean watched him go into the office and come out with a couple of keys. “We’re in 5.”

As they went into the dingy little room, Dean felt a wave of nausea envelope him. It was like every other little dingy motel room in every other city, and it brought back memories in a vicious onslaught. He swayed a little and grabbed the door frame before shaking his head and stepping inside. He dropped his duffle on one bed and fished out his toiletries bag. “Mind if I shower first?”

Jim shook his head and stretched out on the other bed. “Go ahead.”

Dean nodded, fishing out pajama bottoms and stopping at the small dresser to set up three pill bottles. He lined them up, and one by one opened each, counting the remaining pills before taking out the evening’s dose. He tossed them back and swallowed dry, making a face.

The bathroom was small, but mostly clean and Dean stripped down quickly, turning on the hot water. It had been a long, long time since he had found himself riding in a car for so long and he was achy. He let the water pour over him, tried to let it drown the memories. His stomach twisted and he braced himself against the wall.

He had to pull himself together. If a motel could ruin his control, he had no chance with his father. He breathed deeply, slowly, and found something that resembled balance. The water started to run cold, so he got out, wrapping a towel around himself before brushing his teeth. When he emerged from the bathroom, Pastor Jim looked up.

Dean offered a tentative smile. “I’m sorry if I was…rude earlier. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

Jim shrugged and the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “It’s okay. I really do understand.”

“I’m glad _you_ do.” Dean said, letting sarcasm color his voice. “I’ve been in therapy for more than a year, and I still don’t. Not really.”

Dean dropped onto his bed and stretched.

“I couldn’t help but notice that those are some pretty serious drugs you’re on, for a 16 year old.” Jim said, his voice carefully neutral, that tone Dean had grown used to hearing from those who didn’t know.

He tried to sound casual, despite the tightening in his chest. “Well for a 16 year old, I’m pretty seriously fucked up, so it’s appropriate.”

Jim sat up a little so he could see Dean’s face around the lamp on the nightstand between them. “What do you mean?”

Dean shook his head. “No offense, Pastor Jim. I know you mean well. But I don’t need any more people poking around in my head.”

“I only want to help, Dean.”

“I know. Really, I do.” Dean sighed. “I appreciate it. Right now, though, I’m having a little trouble dealing with this reality, this…” He shook his head. “I need some time. Maybe we can talk about it in the morning.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Dean settled in a little more, yawning. “Oh, and I like to run first thing in the morning when I can, so if you wake up and I’m not here, don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

Dean could already feel the sedative he’d taken starting to work, pulling him down toward sleep. He closed his eyes and let it, willing himself to sleep without dreams so that he could actually face his father in the morning.

 

Dean had never been a fan of hospitals. This one was no exception. His most recent stays in the hospital at home had only made his discomfort worse. Pastor Jim led him down corridor after corridor and then stopped outside a room. Dean could see through the window in the door. His father sat in the bed, looking out at nothing, scarcely moving. He was thin and there was gray in his hair that hadn’t been there before. Bruises marked his face and even from outside the room, Dean could see the vacant expression.

“My god.” Dean murmured. “What happened?”

Jim’s voice was soft, reverent. “I really don’t know. He called me about three weeks ago, said he had a lead. I didn’t hear anything from him after that. A few days ago, the hospital called.”

Dean nodded. He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to acknowledge…but he had little choice. “I assume by lead you mean…” He couldn’t say it. The last year…the last six months would just melt away if he did.

Jim nodded though, as if he understood. “Yeah, the demon…the thing that killed your mother.”

Dean closed his eyes and breathed through the panic. “Okay. I should go in alone.”

He took another moment to steel his nerves, then opened the door. His father didn’t move as he entered the room, didn’t look as he crossed the floor. “Dad?”

He thought he saw the elder Winchester flinch, but beyond that he didn’t move. Dean stopped beside the bed, stopped short of touching him. “Dad?”

Dark eyes turned slowly in his direction, though his father’s head didn’t move. “It’s Dean.”

He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to find Pastor Jim looking in from the door. When he wasn’t Dean sighed. “Pastor Jim came to get me. Said you needed me.”

Dean let his eyes sweep over his father, automatically assessing his injuries. He was beat up, but nothing bad enough to warrant his current state. Dean ran a hand through his hair and lifted his knee to sit on the bed in front of his father. He hesitated to touch him. Touch would make this real, and Dean really wasn’t sure he was ready for it to be real.

John’s eyes narrowed, his face turning to Dean and something like recognition alighting in his features. “Dad?”

Dean let his hand slip across to touch his father’s, not really holding it, just resting there, on top of his father’s scarred one. John blinked. His eyes met Dean’s for a minute and Dean thought he saw something in them, something that shook him far more than seeing his father like this. Fear.

He licked his lips and brushed his hand over his father’s in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “It’s okay Dad. You don’t have to say anything. I’m just going to be here for a while. Okay?”

John blinked again, then turned back to whatever it was he’d been staring at when Dean came in.

“Right.” Dean scanned the room, finding the chair he knew would be there. He got up and pulled it closer to the bed, then settled into it for a long day.

 

Dean was nearly asleep when the door opened and he jerked up and to his feet. The man who smiled at him reminded him of a half a dozen doctors he’d seen over the last year, tired, over worked, caring, but worn down by the system and the endless parade of patients. Dean smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Dean, his son.”

The doctor seemed surprised, but shook his hand. “I wasn’t aware Mr. Baines had any family.”

“We—we’re not close like we used to be.”

“I’m Dr. Frissen.” Dean dwarfed the doctor, but there was an air of authority wafting off of him that always made Dean feel inferior. “Your father isn’t really responding to treatment, and I’m not sure exactly how to proceed.”

“What kind of treatment?” Dean held his breath as the doctor listed off a few medications, then let it out. He nodded. They were fairly mild. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since he came out of the coma.”

That startled Dean. Jim hadn’t said anything about a coma. “When was that?”

“Four days ago.” The doctor flipped open the chart in his hands and jotted a few notes. “Has he said anything since you came in?”

Dean shook his head with a frown. “No. He did look at me, but hasn’t said a word.”

“Well, that’s something. Maybe I’ll have someone bring in some food. See if he’ll eat for you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean looked at his father who was still staring into space. “Did he have any…anything on him when he came in? Wallet, books?”

“Yeah, they’re in the drawer. Not much there. Police think he was mugged. Credit cards, cash…all gone. All that was left was his ID and a handful of business cards, and the journal.”

Dean nodded and exhaled slowly. Dr. Frissen made a few more notes, and Dean backed away to let him examine his father. When he was done and gone, Dean moved to the drawer of the small table by his father’s bed. He opened it slowly, staring down at the journal. He closed the drawer just as slowly.

He wasn’t ready for that. He went back to his chair and sat. He wasn’t really ready for any of this. He didn’t belong here. He breathed through a wave of panic. His stomach twisted. His teeth clenched. “Not now.”

He fumbled in his pocket for the bottle of pills, the pills that would help him find his balance. He didn’t like the way they dulled his senses, but it was better than the panic. He swallowed it down and clung to the chair, breathing carefully.

 

“Dean?”

Dean woke with a start and looked up at Pastor Jim. “Yeah.”

“You hungry? I brought food.”

“Yeah…okay.” He stretched and sat up. His father was laying down, his eyes still open, still staring. Jim tossed him a bag of fast food and he made a face. It had been a long time since he’d eaten half-cold fries out of a greasy bag.

“Any change?” Jim asked as he perched on the other chair.

Dean shook his head. “Not really. He ate a little for me earlier, but not enough. He looked at me, but I don’t think he actually saw me.”

Jim nodded. “Have you talked to him?”

Dean snorted. He remembered people talking to him when he’d gone so deep inside. He couldn’t remember anything they said, not until that day that Sam had cried and begged him not to leave him alone. “What could I say?”

“I don’t think it matters.” Jim said around a mouthful of burger.

“Trust me, it matters.” Dean said, quietly.

“Is this where you tell me what happened to you?” Jim’s voice was casual, but Dean could sense the very real curiosity under it.

“I had…a breakdown. Last year. It was bad.” He was inclined to leave it there, but Jim was staring at him. Dean rolled his eyes. “Someone broke into our house and nearly killed me. I no sooner got out of the hospital and someone killed my girlfriend and her father. I saw it happen.”

“Dean.”

Dean looked up, at his father. His dark eyes were on Dean’s face, recognition in their depths. “Dad?”

Dean put his burger down and moved to the bed. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah Dad, I’m here.”

John nodded, then his eyes moved over to where Jim sat. “I told you never go there.”

Jim laughed. “Right, and I take orders from you?”

“Don’t be mad at him, Dad. It was the right thing.”

John’s eyes rolled back to Dean. “I don’t want to ruin things for you.”

Dean shook his head and put his hand on his father’s chest. “You didn’t. I came because you needed me.”

“Where’s Sam?”

Dean felt that like a kick in his gut, but shut his eyes so his father wouldn’t see it. “Home. He—I thought it better that he stay there.”

John nodded. He looked so small and frail and Dean felt almost as fragile. “I should get your doctor.”

“He can’t help me, Dean. Let it be.”

Dean crossed his arms and stared at his father. “Right. No one can help the mighty John Winchester.”

“Dean—“

“No. I know where this is going to go.” Dean paced away. God, he didn’t want to be fighting. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “I need some air. I’ll be back.”

 

John insisted that they take him back to the motel with them, against the doctor’s advisement. Dean was quiet in the truck on the ride back from the hospital, sandwiched between Jim and John.

It was early in the evening when they got back and Dean went directly to the bathroom to change into sweats. “I’m going for a run,” he muttered as he moved through the room.

“You ran this morning.” Jim said.

“Yes, and now I’m going to run again.”

“Dean, you can’t run forever.”

Dean whirled on his father. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I’m not running from anything.”

“No, but you sure are running toward something, aren’t you Dad? Running so hard and so fast that you left us behind.”

John stood from where he’d been lounging on the bed, stalking toward Dean. “And just what is it you think I’m running after, Dean?” Yeah that’s right, get angry at that instead of dealing with the part that matters.

“Death…self-destruction. Look at you.” Dean swept his eyes over his father. “Have you really looked at yourself? You’re a fucking mess.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“No. No. I’m not doing this. Not now. Not again.”

“Not doing what Dean?” John was in his face now, nearly eye to eye and Dean felt a flush of old familiar conditioning. He dropped his eyes.

“I’m not having this discussion, Dad. I’m not letting you drag me back.” His voice had softened and Dean turned away. “I’m better now. I’ve worked hard to be better.”

His head was hurting and he pressed a hand to his temple. “I have to go home. Sam needs me.” He moved around John, reaching for his duffle to repack his things.

John’s hand stopped him. “You aren’t better Dean, you’re drugged.” He waved a hand at the carefully arranged pill bottles.

Dean pulled away. “Maybe that’s what better looks like,” he said quietly, resuming his packing and shoving the pills into his bag.

“What have they done to you?” John grabbed him, forcing him to look at his father. “What the hell have you let them do to you?”

“Let them? Let them, Dad? What the fuck would you know?”

John blinked at him, but didn’t let him go. “Tell me what happened, Dean.”

“No. Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me.”

They stared at one another until Jim cleared his throat to remind them he was still in the room. Dean deflated a little, but John didn’t let him go. “If I tell you, will you let me go home to Sam?” He lifted his eyes to his father’s. “If I tell you what it’s been like for us, will you leave us the hell alone?”

John’s face drained of color, but his hands fell away from Dean’s arms. “Tell me.”

Dean swayed a little on his feet, his head really pounding now. “We’re happy, you know. Sam is really happy. We’re…” He stopped himself and sighed. “The night that you called, I told you that there was something wrong with me. I didn’t tell you about the nightmares, the nose bleeds, the headaches. I didn’t tell you that someone tried to kill me, and nearly succeeded, or that I think…”He swallowed and shook his head. He’d never said it out loud, didn’t really believe it…couldn’t let himself believe it…”I think I stopped him, but not with my hands. I think I stopped him with my brain.”

He sank onto the bed. “I know how that sounds, but…he just…collapsed. He died eventually. I killed him.” His voice sank to the dull, lifeless sound he’d had so often in the hospital. His head throbbed and he pressed one hand to his temple. “I killed him and now I have to live with his wife and never tell her.”

The room was quiet. No one moved or spoke for a long time. John was the first to move, the first to clear his throat. “Dean…how…I mean…”

Dean looked up, tears in his eyes. Everything was shattering inside him. “Don’t Dad. Just don’t.” He had never told Dr. MacAffery that. He’d never spoken it. It was the last secret he had, and now it was out. “There was more…the demons, the dying…the dreams. He said they weren’t meant to be mine.” He was rambling now and he knew it, but couldn’t stop himself.

“I saw it. She died in my dreams over and over and I never…that night, you called…after you, she…died…I couldn’t get there, and she died because of me…because I wasn’t fast enough, because I thought they were just dreams.” The tears flowed unchecked and Dean huddled deeper into himself. “And then he died because I killed him, and I fucking liked the man. He was good to us.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his hands pressing against his head as the pain grew. “No. God. No.” He doubled over as it came, images of blood, dying…black eyes in a familiar face. “No!”

He pushed it away, even as John’s arms closed around him, and he slipped from the bed, into his father’s lap. John held him as his body spasmed, as the images crashed through him and he sobbed with the unfairness, with the pain and the loss of six months of sanity. He pressed his head against John’s chest, clutching at his shirt like it was all he knew of reality, like he was fucking twelve years old again.

His father’s hand caressed over his head as he rocked them on the floor, his deep voice soft and comforting, though Dean couldn’t focus on the words. Dean tried to pull away a few times, but the voice and his hands kept him still, kept him cradled in his father’s arms.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they sat there that way, but eventually the tears stopped and he took a deep breath. His father’s hands fell away and Dean moved, climbing to his feet gingerly. His head pounded and he reached for his bag, digging out the migraine medication that probably wouldn’t touch the headache anyway. Nothing ever did but sleep.

He got the pill bottle out and opened it, but his father’s hand stopped him. “It’s for the headache.” Dean said quietly.

John nodded and withdrew his hand, and Dean watched him pace away, looking at Jim. Something silent passed between the two older men. “What?” Dean asked finally and John turned back to face him.

“How long?” Dean shrugged at him and threw two of the pills in his mouth. “How long have you been having visions, Dean?”

Dean shook his head and dropped the pills back in his bag. “No. Not visions. They’re…delusions….brought on by the migraine. They’re not…not real.” He was panting and he could feel himself shaking.

“I know that’s what they probably told you, Dean.” Jim said, finally moving from his place near the door. “But trust me Son. I’ve seen enough to know—“

Dean held up his hand. “Stop. Please. God. Just…just stop.”

“Dean?”

“Dad…I can’t, okay?” Dean tried to control his breathing.

“Can you tell me what you saw?”

Dean’s eyes closed and he turned away from them both, fisting his hands and pressing them to his temples. “Blood. He’s going to kill again.” His voice sounded foreign, light and breathy, as if giving the words more weight would unravel him, press him back into the darkness. Dean felt hands on his shoulders, pressing into the tense muscle, circling and caressing. “If I tell you, will you let it be? Let me go home?” Dean whispered, swaying a little on his feet.

John didn’t answer with words, he let his hands work Dean’s back and then slide around to pull him back against him strong and supportive. Dean let his head fall back against his father’s broad shoulder, let his father carry his weight, as if his entire body had grown too heavy to handle himself.

“It will come after us…after Jenny and Janet…leave them for me to find…don’t know when…” He was dreamy and unfocused, like he was half asleep and his eyes fluttered closed, letting the images flow through him again. It didn’t hurt as bad when he didn’t fight them. “Works a circuit, cycle. Wants…it likes the pain…screams…” Green-yellow eyes burned in the dark. “Familiar faces, it uses them…possesses them.” Cassie’s face, frightened stuttered across his mind. “Killing is getting worse, building. More…all the time more…” Dean shuddered and let it go. “There wasn’t any more, just more of the same.”

He regained his feet and took a few steps away from his father. “Is that what you wanted?”

John nodded absently, stroking his beard. “How long?”

Dean had to think about it. “Almost three years…if you count the nightmares too.”

“And you never thought to tell me?”

Dean sighed, suddenly very tired. “No. And if I had, how would I have told you?” He held up both hands before John could say anything. “No. I don’t want to fight anymore. I want to take my pills and go to sleep and go home to Sammy.”

“I’d rather you didn’t take the pills.”

Dean looked him in the eye. “I made a promise to Sam that I would take them. I keep my promises.” _Especially the ones I make to Sam_. Dean dolled out the pills into his hand and swallowed them quickly. “Can we just…call it a night?”

John nodded and Dean thought he’d never seen his father look more small and hurt in his life. He didn’t even bother stripping out of his running clothes, just kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed, closing his eyes and willing the pills to keep the nightmares at bay.

 

 

The drive home was longer than it should have been due to bad weather and floods that forced rode closures. Dean was antsy, stuck in the middle of the truck between the two older men. He could feel his balance returning. Granted, he’d taken an extra dose of the sedative this morning, and he’d taken two extra miles on his run to get that balance, and any word from anyone was likely to upset it completely, but it was calming.

They were all quiet now, the static-filled radio the only source of noise in the cab beyond their breathing. It was just as well. There really wasn’t anything else to say. Dean ached with fear that the visions had come back, despite the medication meant to equal out his brain chemistry. He’d counted carefully that morning before taking any, making sure he’d done it right and hadn’t missed any. He dreaded having to tell Dr. MacAfferty, dreaded the inevitable week in the hospital while they adjusted the meds and ran tests.

More than that he dreaded the look on Sam’s face when he found out. Dean wasn’t sure he could handle the disappointment, the fear.

“We’re here.” John said quietly, as Jim pulled the truck to a stop and Dean looked up.

It was nearly midnight. The front porch light was on, but the house itself was dark. Dean sighed. It should feel good to be home. Instead it felt raw.

“Dean, you know…you could…you could come, with me I mean. You’re old enough.” John didn’t look at him, didn’t move.

“No, Dad. I can’t.”

“You have a gift, you can’t let them drug it out of you.”

“Dad, stop.” Dean ached. For so long it had been the only thing he wanted.

“You can make choices Dean.”

“I have made my choice.” Dean looked at him, but looked away when John turned to him. “I choose normal. I choose the meds. I choose to live without nightmares and demons.” He sighed, blinking at the tears. “I choose Sam, Dad.”

John didn’t seem to have an answer for that, he just opened the door and got out of the truck, reaching into the bed for Dean’s bag. “You could too.” Dean said quietly as he took the bag.

John’s hand lifted to touch him and Dean pulled away. His jaw worked as emotion coursed through him. “You…take care of yourself, Dad.”

It was goodbye. He just couldn’t say the word, not with his father looking like Dean had shattered him. Dean shouldered his bag and made his way to the door. He didn’t turn to look, just put his key to the lock and opened the door. He closed it behind him and keyed in the password to the security system, then leaned against the door, trembling.

He had survived. Maybe only barely, but he’d come home. Right that minute, it was enough.


End file.
